


Altered

by diemarysues



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Humour, M/M, Parody, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 16:44:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>About the time Thorin started picking flowers for Bilbo, the rest of the Dwarves had come to agreement about two things: </i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>One, their leader was a certified loony.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Two, they were going to have to do something about it.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Altered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alkjira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/gifts).



> Disclaimer: No offence is intended, nor should it be inferred. This is for fun. And it's all [alkjira](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira)'s fault.

The morning after their perilous escape from the Goblins and the Wargs was very surreal; the air was fresh and cool, the sun just peeking over the horizon and turning the sky pink where it wasn’t covered by thick white clouds.

 

Bilbo missed all of this when he woke up because his vision was completely black.

 

It took him a moment of quiet panicking to realise that this was due to something physically obstructing his vision, rather than having lost it. He chuckled a little to himself before reaching up to push whatever it was away (had someone draped it over him as a joke?), and sitting up.

 

Realising that it was _Thorin’s coat_ draped over him made Bilbo’s eyes pop.

 

The Dwarf in question was nowhere in sight; all the others were asleep bar Nori. Bilbo quickly folded the coat (the fur was _gorgeously_ soft, it had to be said) and placed it in an unobtrusive spot away from where he’d been sleeping.

 

Nori didn’t seem to have noticed – good. Bilbo walked towards him, yawning theatrically.

 

“Save it,” the Dwarf said without preamble. “I saw.”

 

Bilbo sighed. “Fine. Where is he, anyway?”

 

“The likes of me aren’t privy to the business of Kings.” Nori winked. “Perhaps he’s looking for breakfast. I know I’m hungry.”

 

“I do wish you hadn’t mentioned food.”

 

He shrugged apologetically.

 

Slowly, the rest of the Company awoke. As Thorin continued to be absent, they wondered where he had disappeared to. Bofur pointed out the folded coat; but seeing as Nori said nothing, Bilbo figured he needn’t either.

 

When Thorin finally graced them with his presence, he gave no explanation beyond a curt comment on needing quiet to think. He collected his coat without so much as a glance at Bilbo and announced that they would be leaving so as to arrive at Gandalf’s friend’s house sooner. Any complaints the Dwarves had were muttered under their breaths.

 

Gandalf led their party, of course, talking quietly with Balin as they walked. Behind were Ori and Dori, followed by Bifur, Fíli, Kíli, then Bombur and Óin, Glóin and Dwalin, and then Bofur and Nori.

 

Right at the rear was Bilbo. Much to his astonishment, he was joined by Thorin. The King still hadn’t said a word to him, though; it was rather a shame. Bilbo really thought that their relationship would’ve improved after he’d saved Thorin’s life.

 

He glanced at the sun and distractedly rubbed a hand over his depressingly diminished paunch. Ohh, dinner had been so long ago (and so unsatisfying)…

 

“Are you hungry?”

 

Bilbo started, a defensive retort on the tip of his tongue before he realised that there had been no mocking edge to Thorin’s question.

 

“Um, I – yes. Hobbits are used to more meals than this, you know.”

 

“How many more?”

 

Bilbo winced. “I’d happily describe them all for you at another time, I think. I fear just mentioning it has made me hungrier.”

 

Thorin hummed thoughtfully before reaching into a heretofore unseen pouch on his belt. He brought out some sort of shapeless food and held it towards Bilbo.

 

“Cram. It is a biscuit we take on long journeys. It’s not much, but it will take the bite away.”

 

“How did you –”

 

“We all keep some about our person, in case of emergencies. And we do not grow hungry as easily as Hobbits, so none have broken theirs out yet, else they would have offered it to you.” Impatient, seeing as Bilbo hadn’t reached out yet, Thorin grabbed his hand and dropped the dry-looking biscuit into his palm.

 

Bilbo tried to return it. “I cannot take this, then! It’s yours!”

 

“I am no stranger to hunger, Hobbit. I would rather my burglar did not faint from exhaustion.”

 

“But –” He made a face. “You are injured.”

 

“Cram is hardly going to improve my condition. Eat it.”

 

“Thorin –”

 

“Please.”

 

Perfectly astonished, Bilbo found himself nodding. He was then even more amazed to be graced by a smile.

 

* * *

 

There was something strange afoot.

 

Balin had known his cousin all his life (it was a bit painful to think on memories of Erebor and Thorin leading an impressionable Balin and Frerin off for mischief), and could proudly say that he knew Thorin as well as his immediate family. He knew what constituted strange behaviour for his King, and he knew that Thorin was acting strange now.

 

For one thing, he kept _smiling_. At their young burglar especially.

 

It wasn’t that Thorin was dour. Not all the time. He was capable of teasing and taunting, joking and laughing. But this was when he was not utterly consumed by a specific task. Given a goal, Thorin would see that it was realized before anything else.

 

But now he was distracted. Balin didn’t know if anyone else had noticed beyond him and his brother (Dwalin was _very_ observant), but perhaps the rest just weren’t as used to Thorin’s mannerisms as they two were.

 

However, whispers and confused looks certainly started once Thorin slung an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders.

 

That… was not done. Or it was not done by Thorin. The hug he had bestowed upon the Halfling had been understandable – he’d been saved from death and wished to apologise for slighting Bilbo so many times. Fine.

 

Casual touches, though, those were uncommon. Thorin did not often let people close enough for them to become _friends_. He reserved his affection for his family (although his strictness came to the forefront more often), not to someone he claimed not to be responsible for.

 

Right, the smiling was getting rather disturbing now.

 

“Thorin, could I speak with you?”

 

Luckily, he was able to draw the King aside.

 

“What is it?”

 

Balin frowned. “You are acting oddly.”

 

“No more than usual, surely.” Even as Thorin said this, his eyes sought out the smallest member of the Company. “Is that all? Because I meant to tell Bilbo –”

 

“Oh, when has he become ‘Bilbo’, to you? I thought you were fonder of ‘Mr. Baggins’ and ‘Halfling’.” Not to mention other increasingly unflattering names.

 

Now Thorin’s brow furrowed. “I will call him what I wish.”

 

“You should step back and take stock of the situation, Thorin. Listen to me. You are not yourself.”

 

“Come now, Balin. You are not my father.”

 

Rather than comment on this unusually casual mention of Thráin, Balin instead drew himself up to full height and glared. “Indeed not! You are the oldest of us here, if you’ll care to remember – bar the Wizard. You’d do well to remember it, Thorin.”

 

But he was unfazed.

 

* * *

 

Despite the fact that Óin manage to finagle Thorin into having his wounds rechecked by virtue of sitting a ways away, Thorin had apparently forgotten that Óin’s voice carried.

 

“Alrigh’ lad, have your shirt off.”

 

They’d stopped to rest from the heat of the afternoon. Soon enough they’d be pushing forward as they had been – food really would start being more of a problem – but for now they enjoyed the shade and quietly wondered at their leader’s state of mind.

 

“No infection. And no fever. Hmm.”

 

Thorin fiddled with the tunic pooled in his lap. “Were you expecting infection?”

 

“Eh, no. D’ya feel any dizziness or light-headedness at all?”

 

There was a sigh. Thorin was not facing the ‘camp’, but since most everyone was listening in, they heard him say, “I suppose it’s no use denying it. I also have chest pain, here.” He tapped his sternum.

 

Óin looked almost apoplectic. “And when were ya goin’ to tell me –?”

 

“You can hardly do anything about matters of the heart.”

 

“ _What_?” Óin’s exclamation was a more than adequate representative of the rest of the Company’s thoughts.

 

“I was, too, taken by surprise. To think my heart was so easily stolen.” Thorin sighed again. “But surely I am not at fault; it is quite difficult to resist those eyes, bright like midnight stars, and those lips like perfect petals of –”

 

Óin very carefully lowered his ear trumpet. There was a reason why Thorin didn’t dabble in poetry, and Óin did not want to feel ill.

 

* * *

 

Fíli turned to Kíli, eyes wide enough that the white was visible all around the blue. “Brother, did you… did Thorin just –?”  
  
“I – I think so.”  
  
They both observed their uncle as he went – whistling! – across the camp and settled on the ground next to a nervous looking Bilbo. The nervousness did not exactly fade as Thorin turned to the Hobbit with a wide grin on his face.

 

“Hello, my sweet Bilbo.”

 

“H-hullo, Thorin.”

 

“Are you comfortable?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Only, there is a place for you here.”

 

Their spying not very subtle at all, Fíli and Kíli watched as their normally stoic uncle opened his arms, clearly indicating that Bilbo was to sit _on his lap_. An implication that clearly had occurred to Bilbo, judging by the way his face had coloured.

 

“That’s, that’s alright, Thorin. I wouldn’t want to aggravate your wounds.”

 

Rather than reassure Bilbo this wasn’t the case – the princes would have bet on this being their uncle’s course of action –, Thorin merely nodded. Their meagre dinner was passed around, and things would have faded into normalcy if not for Bilbo’s raised voice.

 

“No don’t – you need to eat as well, Thorin, this is ridiculous!”

 

Thorin gazed at Bilbo with solemn eyes. “I need only feast my eyes on your face.”

 

With the unspoken agreement they’d honed over the years, Fíli and Kíli helped each other up and announced to the camp at large that they would scout the perimeter. Then they found a small clearing out of earshot and collapsed on the grass, absolutely shrieking with laughter.

 

* * *

 

About the time Thorin started picking flowers for Bilbo, the rest of the Dwarves had come to agreement about two things:

 

One, their leader was a certified loony.

 

Two, they were going to have to do something about it.

 

Luckily for them, their planning went very much unnoticed as Thorin only had eyes for the Hobbit he’d glued himself to. It was somewhat pathetic to watch the King follow Bilbo around like a lost puppy, but at least it gave them a chance to discuss the plan freely without fear of injury.

 

When they had everything ready – and only a half a day from Gandalf’s promised rest point – Fíli lured Thorin away under the pretence of discussing their quest. Kíli hurried to Bilbo’s side.

 

It was only fair that he was let in on the plan; his part, after all, would be instrumental.

 

The Hobbit looked… tired. To be fair, he’d had to deal with the ferocious and single-minded attention of one Thorin Oakenshield. He’d likely borne it with more grace than any other being on Middle-Earth could have.

 

Kíli quickly relayed the details of their scheme – it was an inspired work of art, honestly. It was sheer luck that he finished before deep voice barked out sharply, “Kíli. What are you doing with Bilbo?”

 

The young Dwarf immediately released his hold on Bilbo’s shoulder, taking a pace back nervously. “Uhh, uh – I was explaining Dwarvish customs to Bilbo, Uncle. Y-you know, in case he may find need for them in the future.” He made strange motions with his eyebrows, meaningfully glancing at Bilbo as he did so.

 

“Ah! Good lad, Kíli.”

 

Bilbo just looked confused (and a little green). Kíli could only hope that he still remembered the plan.

 

Unable to make doubly sure, Kíli retreated. (Despite his Uncle’s creepily-genial tone, his glare was as scorching as ever.) He went to Ori’s side. Now all they could do was wait and see if Bilbo would deliver.

 

He did.

 

“Thorin.”

 

Thorin immediately directed all his attention onto Bilbo – if it hadn’t already been. His face took on a shy happiness when small hands were placed onto his arms. (It was a look that managed to be simultaneously sickening and sad. To Kíli, at least.)

 

“What is it, dear one?”

 

“You love me, right?”

 

“More and more each day.”

 

Kíli made a face at Fíli. Eurgh.

 

Bilbo smiled. “Then will you do something for me?”

 

“Anything. Everything!”

 

“Close your eyes.”

 

“What?”

 

Kíli bit his lip.

 

Bilbo looked like he was steeling himself. “Please close your eyes. D-dear one.”

 

This time there was no shyness to the happiness that graced Thorin’s countenance; he smiled widely at Bilbo and very readily let his eyelids fall closed.

 

“Don’t move,” Bilbo said quietly, and stepped away on quiet feet.

 

“Now!” someone shouted, and Thorin only had time enough to frown before Gandalf struck across the face with his staff.

 

* * *

 

Thorin came to with a groan. His head felt curiously, excruciatingly painful. As if he’d been bashed in the face with some sort of –

 

Wait. This wasn’t where they’d last made camp.

 

Thorin made himself sit up, clutching his head as every movement sent spikes into his skull. By the time he was upright, it was clear that he was not alone. The way everyone was staring, as if anticipating some strange behaviour, was not promising.

 

“What,” he bit out, “has happened?”

 

There was a long silence that did not help with his sour mood. Finally Fíli cleared his throat. “I will do it.”

 

Thorin watched as everyone’s faces slid into varying degrees of relief. Balin clapped Fíli on the shoulder. “We’ll give the both of you some privacy, laddie.”

 

His eyes only narrowed further when he clearly heard Dori muttering to Bombur about how Thorin would be less likely to kill his named heir. When Fíli quietly set about explaining the past happenings, Thorin could not deny the truth in Dori’s words.

 

Damn it.

 

* * *

 

“Burglar… Bilbo.”

 

The Hobbit peeked upwards. “Yes?”

 

“I wish to… apologise for my behaviour.”

 

“It’s – that’s hardly necessary –”

 

Thorin shook his head sharply, cutting Bilbo off. “It is. I may not have been in my right mind, but I can still apologise for causing you any discomfiture.”

 

Bilbo stared at him for a long time – quite surprising, considering his constant preoccupation with properness and manners. Finally he nodded hesitantly. “I accept your apology.”

Thorin returned the nod, and would have stalked away to nurse his wounded pride, but for the sound of throat clearing.

 

“The thing is… While your behaviour these past few days has been strange, the sentiment behind them wasn’t, um, wasn’t _completely_ undesired.”

 

He stood rooted to the spot, unwilling to believe what he’d just heard. Surely – surely Bilbo hadn’t meant to suggest – But, no, Thorin had definitely heard right, if those bright red ears were any indication.

 

When Bilbo offered him a shy smile, Thorin had a tiny one in return.

**Author's Note:**

> I really like writing fics like this. Used to write them for LoTR 'back in the day'.  
> Annoyingly, I still haven't finished chapter 11 of Courting Habits. Now, off to nap.


End file.
